Some Side Effects Included
Yongin, South Korea
2022, Junior, Creative Writing
You know orange crumbs?
I know orange crumbs. I can feel them crunching between my fingertips right now.
And I can also feel a VR mask smudging against my face. The sweat, though. I could drink it up. Better than the water I have access to.
Pink marks and creases have grown like lineups of pigs across my cheeks. Who needs makeup?
This virtual mall is no good. I swipe from spot to spot, but where are the sales?
A yellow market, bright like old photos of the sun. I am a moth to the flame.
A sudden hologram reflects a man in bright blue clothing holding a bucket of fish. “Hey there, I’m Mark. Are you not sleeping well? This fish, with a new assortment of heavy metals, helps you sleep better than any medicine. Delicious, too! Extra crunch. 50 percent off!”
I save the fish in my shopping cart. Skip. Skip. The colorful shops blur past me like a waterfall.
I try to click-teleport myself into a clothing store, but an ad suddenly blocks my vision. Pop-ups!
“Come get your lobsters.” A couple tears the arms off a lobster and stuffs them into their mouths, smiling, healthy, happy. The man turns to me, grinning wider, and shouts as he serves a lobster directly to my face. My eyes glisten. His eyes twitch.
Text at the bottom-corner of my view: “Now with one-third more microplastics! Nausea helps with stomach aches; vomit releases the naughty bacteria from your digestive system!”
I reach for the small button on the side of the mask. I need to screenshot this.
Oil spurts onto the screen before I can take the shot. Darn it, the ad-blocker got in the way.
Squinting, I see a few posters about the benefits of diarrhea. My finger rests on the swipe button while I go back to the old shops and find the lobster to order.
My head starts to hurt. Too hot in this sweaty headset.
Orange crumbs now wiped against my sweatpants, I push the “buy” button on my cart and enter my credit card number, all the while embracing the beeping noises of every digit.
* * *
The doorbell rings.
Smudgy camera lens, but I can see the delivery bot well enough. Two heavy boxes plop down with a thud. Puffs of ash bloom away.
My mom yells. Something about the tap water clogging again. She needs to learn to appreciate the minerals.
I wipe my sweaty palms. Lifting the box is easy with all my blisters. One-by-one I fling each box to our compartment floor.
The box sticker reads: “Finest Red Lobsters.” My mom uses her scissors to poke a hole and drag an open crease.
My mom’s eyes practically sparkle as she peers at the big lobsters lined across the ice. Shocking, they gave us ice this time!
Three lobsters crinkle into the sink in preparation for dinner. We boil water for the steaming pot. Three lobsters into the pot, lifted by dad, that old saint. His glasses fog up, but he’s used to the sensation of stinging eyes.
The scent of the lobsters is a bit fishier than normal. When the timer rings, we open the pot. Three lobsters, bright red with white cascading down the sides. My mouth watering, I set up the table to eat. One bite, and the bitterness along my tongue increases. Hmm, there must be a new assortment of spices.
* * *
We ordered multiple weeks-worth of lobsters. A subscription deal—we won’t have to go outside!
My fingers have been tingling. My hands are filled with tiny gashes and pink cuts, like blisters. I poke at each, wincing. My head feels faint as I use my bed as support to stand up. My weight shifts as I feel my balance fall. I glare at the books fading from left to right as I step back to clear my vision.
I slowly walk out my room, leaning alongside the wall, unable to lift my head properly. My shoulder bumps into corners, the thud vibrating my body. I see mom leaning across the sink, her face pale as she leans her head on her red hands.
As I see triple of my mother, I shake my head, putting my hands in front of me to grasp the floating images of her. Images of my hands double as I grasp empty air. The more I reach, the more I feel my head spin. Time slows to a blur.
I look in the nearest mirror. A rash has grown along my cheek. My left eye twitches while my other stares, engorged.
Beautiful. I am beautiful, just like the happy, healthy family—just as advertised. Thank God for microplastics!
Reflection
I was inspired to write this story after reading through articles from past winners and noting the variety of ways one can be funny. Because I don’t usually write comedic stories, I felt like I could incorporate my own style into a humorous piece. The process of writing this became easier after I took time to research ocean pollution and its side effects. Once I realized I could adapt advertising styles and the way ads always try to convince us to accept things we don’t need, I knew I had an idea for a funny story. Writing this piece reminded me how urgent the problem of climate change is and how we need to change things now before future generations are forced to "get used to" the horrible effects of climate change and pollution.